


Ready to Meet Mr Mayhem

by Miss_Black91



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Angst, Feels, Gen, Internal Monologue, Matter of Life and Death, Pain, Spoilers, getting over it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Black91/pseuds/Miss_Black91
Summary: [SEASON 7 SPOILERS]He lost an eye and some fingers. He was in a cell. And he had a lot of time to think. Bobby reflects about his life.[SEASON 7 SPOILERS]





	Ready to Meet Mr Mayhem

Peace and violence. Life and death. In that dark cell, opposites met and concepts so apparently simple could get terribly confusing. And Bobby had been in that cell for quite some time now. He needed to trust his mind, and trust that it would not leave him. 

Bobby loved his club. He loved it more than he loved his life, more than he loves his brothers, more than he loves women and more than he loves a good bike. He would die for the Sons if it came to that, and he would probably have to give his life for the club pretty soon. He quite agreed with that option. He’d had a good life, a pretty nice one if he started to think about all the ways in which it could’ve gone terribly wrong. He had brothers that he loved and who he could trust, he’d seen more pussies that he could have ever counted, and he’d had some adventures too. If he had to explain all that had happened in his live, some people would never believe it. 

Fuck, his eye was hurting a lot. And his hand hurt too. He wasn’t new, it wasn’t the first time that he felt a strong kind of pain in his body. He had been shot more than once. He had been in a fight once or twice, maybe. He was good with numbers, sure, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t good for field-work. He was all-in when he had to do a dirty one, if the club needed it. Even if his brain sometimes told him that maybe in that moment a cleaner option would be smarter, he did what the club needed him to do. 

But anyway, his eye was hurting a fucking lot, his hand hurt too, his whole body was hurting, actually, and he was having so much time to think about the pain and everything that came with it. He had time to think about life, death, love, hate, peace, war, heaven, hell and about regrets. He had some of them. Bobby had been listing them while sitting in that dark cell. 

He had some wives, yes, he had some nice women in his life, but he had never met what everyone calls  _ the one.  _ He hadn’t found that thing that everyone talks about. Maybe the club had been it for him? The one true love of his life? That one single fantastic thing that everyone speaks of but nobody can define? Maybe it really was the club for him. Maybe he wasn’t destined to have a great love story, maybe his love story came with the club, in the form of a great brotherhood. 

He hadn’t been a specially good father. Uncle, maybe, for Jax and Opie, because he had been there, but since the divorce he hadn’t been there for his son. He provided, he sent money, they knew that he existed, but he hadn’t been a  _ father  _ like he should. Because the club was always first, and he should have known it, that the club would always and forever be first on his list. A son hadn’t changed the CLUB ONLY kind of attitude he had always had, and maybe that had been better for his kid, seeing the kind of life that he had. Maybe his kid would be dead, like Opie. Or he would be following the dark path that Jax was set into right now. Or he would be with Half-Sack. The club gives as much as the club takes away, and he wasn’t an innocent, he knew that. 

He would have liked to record a CD. What would happen to all his singing once he died? That really was a shame. He would have liked to do an amateur-ish thing, to record a CD for the club, for the next generations to know why he was called Bobby “Elvis”, that there was a guy called like that for a reason, not because of some joke, and his voice would sound from a CD -but only after he died, for fuck’s sake. 

He would have liked to listen to JT earlier, to try and understand his words and his vision before all that shit happened. Now they had Jax, but it looked like he had lost the way too, hadn’t he? Was there any way to make him reconsider everything? Maybe his death would help, maybe by dying he could do more than being alive. Maybe his death would affect Jax in some way so he would think about his father again, because it looked like he had been driving away from it for quite some time now. 

But what about himself? Bobby had been following Clay blindly, and in doing so he hadn’t helped anyone. Sure, he was a smart guy, he had always seen that something wasn’t okay with Clay, there was something dark about him, but he was his brother! He loved him! He was a good leader for the club! He could have never imagined that he would be capable of that kind of evil, he couldn’t imagine that he was so fucking selfish and that he could be so blinded by delusions of power. 

But his life had had a bright side with the face of a Reaper. He had known love with the shape of a brotherhood and he was absolutely ready to meet death to defend it. He wasn’t the first thing in the world for anyone, and nobody would put him before anyone else, but his brothers had loved him. And his wives must have loved him at some point, right? Even if it was a little bit? 

He was happy with what he left behind in his life. He had had people who would remember him, that was for sure. Maybe not everyone would do it with a big smile on their faces, okay, but they would remember him anyway, and some of them would even be happy about it. Some people had enjoyed their moments with him, right? He left behind good friends, brothers, like Chibs and Tig, or Happy, people who looked for advice in him. He also left behind kids that he had seen growing and whom he saw as nephews, like Jax, now a full grown man in charge of the club. He was so fucking proud of Jax, even if he hadn’t been able to follow his path at some point. He had become the man that he had needed to grow into. Bobby also left Charming behind, which hopefully would remember his times as Elvis, dressed as him and playing with the kids of the town. 

 

_ Jax, don’t fuck it up,  _ he thought.  _ Don’t risk it. Not for me, I’m certainly not fucking worth it. And I don’t want that huge weight on my shoulders. I don’t want the death of the club on my shoulders. Don’t fucking save me, Jax, I’m done. I can’t ride, not like this. I can’t even see properly anymore.  _ Those days in the cell had given him more than enough time to come to terms with the fact that he was going to die, and that he would do it soon. He had chosen that life, the life of a Son, to wear the Reaper on his back. You could get a lost bullet and you wouldn’t see another day. He knew it, he had known it forever. Now it was just a long and clear image in his head. He was doing to die, his life was going to end, and he was okay with it. It wouldn’t be nice, it would actually be quite bloody, but damn, he had seen worse. 

He was okay with that. He felt peace, he had his soul and his heart in peace. His life had been tied to the Reaper, and by side of the Reaper it would end. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Every time that those assholes came into his cell, he was less and less and less scared. What else could they do to him? More pain? He didn’t want to feel more pain, sure, but feeling pain was a much better option than failing the club. If he had to feel pain so Jax wouldn’t do shit, then he would feel it. He felt the soothing wings of Mr. Mayhem around him, and he so much wanted to surrender in that moment. Life was good, he needed to remember that, but damn, it would be so easy to fall now. 

He knew that he had a limit, everyone had a limit. He just didn’t know where his limit was. Surrendering meant finding some kind of peace, if it existed something like that for someone like him. He just needed some peace by now, a little bit of peace, and letting go seemed like a nice way of doing so. Peace… what was peace? For a man like him, was peace the same as it was for anyone else? The Sons were his peace. The Reaper was his peace. Would he find it in the wings of darkness? 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because, even if I watched season 7 years ago now, I'm not over this. I wrote this in less than an hour, in a notebook.  
> Maybe I'm changing things from the plot in my head so it fits my narrative, my head does it from time to time. 
> 
> If you are reading this, thank you for dropping by!


End file.
